


When Angels Awaken

by RunePhoenix6769



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2020-10-20 12:55:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20675735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunePhoenix6769/pseuds/RunePhoenix6769
Summary: One shot so for now. Who knows?





	1. Chapter 1

.  
Taking a reluctant yet much needed respite, the party had carved out a small space in a tiny hollow that offered minimal protection from the elements. 

Thank small mercies that the weather seemed fair, unlike the ebbing morale of the group. 

Collecting Fjord's shaving kit from his pack, Beau moved a little bit aways from the warmth of the campfire for some much needed privacy and for fear her dark mood would become infectious. 

Crossing her ankles she lowered herself down onto the grass in frustration,

_"Wild Mother dammit, Yasha!"_

Just when things had started to look up.

She had become lighter of late. Coming out of her shell a bit more, even going as far as to start having private inside jokes with Jester.

It was as if in opening up about Zuala, Yasha had allowed her party mates to help carry the load that weighed heavily upon those broad shoulders. Willing pall bearers to the hurt and pain she felt to her core.

In the water, concentric circles spreading out from the centre to the rim of the mug distorted Beau's reflection, an image as brittle and fragile as the heart she carefully wrapped in a tough veneer,

_"I see you, Beau. I see you alot."_

She dashed it with the tip of a short blade, slicing through the mocking mirror image, leaving it to rest there.

Shifting to sit crossed legged she methodically lay out Fjord's shaving kit, and attempted to work up a lather, vigorously whipping the brush in circles.

Something, anything to concentrate on whilst they tried to come up with a feasible plan.

Did she want to face why it bothered her so much?

A hit it and quit girl, she had always told herself. _Get in, enjoy yourself, get out like a ninja._

Typical monk thing really, when you thought about it.

Keeping them at arms length or leaving them behind in the towns they passed through meant not having to, nó doubt, disappoint them in the future or a repeat of Tori.

Keg, well, that had been a mixture of adrenaline, exhaustion, a deep down need for comfort after the horrendous three weeks trying to save their party mates from the clutches of slavery.

And the loss of Molly.

Could you call it grief?

Her thoughts drifted to the Prince amongst many and a beautifully embroidered coat on a hill far way, in another lifetime, flapping in the wind. 

What would he say in this seemingly hopeless situation?

No doubt something profound that would give Caduceus a run for his money.

_Fuck you, Molly!_ she thought peevishly, before instantly regretting it.

_Yasha._

But Yasha was different. Different from all those other women over the weeks, months, even years.

The quiet brawny barbarian had gotten under her skin. Sure, who didn't like a buff girl who could bench press you with one arm?

The ex smuggler would know, with the string of broken hearts left in her wake, cross crossing over the continent.

But it was the soft demeanour, the way she carried herself. Her protectiveness of others. Her book of pressed flowers, a living journal for one who was no longer here.

A unfathomable pool whose surface was like glass, covering a mystery from which floated a melancholic aria.

When she had first heard Yasha speak of her past, she had avoided the aasimar, telling herself she was just giving her space, when in fact she hadn't known how to broach the subject.

She wasn't the best with words of support or anything slightly vulnerable and she had been pretty certain, - _"Hey, sorry I kept hitting on you whilst you're grieving your murdered wife! We cool?"_ \- just wasn't gonna cut it.

Instead she had done what she did best and kept her distance.

_What a shit heel!_ she thought darkly as she began to pull up the side of her hair to reveal the out of control fuzzy undercut.

Propping the tiny mirror from the shaving kit against a stone, she began to lay on the lather, tufts of brown hair sticking out from the white coating.

In its reflection she could make out behind her just a little bit aways Nott lay curled in on herself, shivering slightly in her sleep whilst Fjord and Caduceus seemed deep in discussion sipping on what had to be thier third pot of tea, the firbolg just hadn't been able to stop brewing it. Caleb quiet as always, stared into the flames, his hand absently stroking at Frumpkin's fur.

Each nursing their loss in their own way,

Turning and tipping her head sideways so she could sort of see what she was doing, her other hand reached blindly until it wrapped around the familiar feeling handle of the dagger in the cup.

Again she pulled her long brown hair up before commencing pressing down and drawing the edge of the blade along her scalp, trying to keep a steady hand and apply the right amount of pressure.

Short tufts of hair began to come away, and she alternated between cleaning off the hair by dunking the blade in the water and resuming her self administered shave.

Everything was fine until she got to the pesky part round the ear and where she could no longer see, no matter how much she craned her neck.

A melodious voice, robbed of its usual joy at the world, softly offered,

"Here, let me." Gentle, coaxing fingers took the dagger from Beau's unresisting hand, "You're making a bit of a mess."

Kneeling down, the teifling woman began to scrape the blade's edge in quick short movements along the monk's scalp trying to catch the tufts she had missed in her first attempt. Beau could feel it grazing the skin a little, leaving behind a slight sting she didn't mind. 

If she was feeling something it meant she was alive, right?

Jester hummed under her breath whilst she worked, pulling down Beau's ear to get at the back of it, the tip of cold steel skirting where ear met scalp.

Working round the back, the cleric wiped the dagger on a nearby cloth, leaving it down as her other hand made the grabby motion. Beau quickly passed back the brush and then the lather, whilst still trying to hold up her hair. She felt Jester begin to dab it on with big globs, brushing it as if creating a masterpiece on canvas.

Through the mirror she spied the pastel goth tilting her head this way and that, her pink tongue peeking out of the corner of her blue lips as she concentrated, before squinting and admiring her handiwork.

The monk shifted on to her haunches, stretching put her long lean yet muscular legs to get some feeling back into them before drawing up her knees so she could lean forward, resting her forearms on them. 

Positioning Beau's head with firm fingers, Jester resumed the much needed haircut. It was almost relaxing, the rhythmic sound made. As she tilted her friend's head forward to gain access to the back and neck, she murmured,

"How on the Wild Mother's green Xandria did you think you were gonna do this?"

Beau tugged at a loose piece of thread on her top,

"I don't usually do it,....."

She trailed off as simultaneously Jester paused, blade hovering. 

The unspoken word _Yasha_ hung heavily in the air.

A beat, maybe two of contemplative stillness before Jester's finger tips tentatively rubbed at Beau's scalp, the knife slowly trimming at hair,

"Maybe The Traveller is with her?" It was soft, almost hopeful, yet lacked the conviction it had once carried.

Beau's shoulders sagged, her head tipping forward.

"Maybe he is."

The young teifling woman shuffled forward on her knees to get closer, as to offer some comfort.

"I pray to him every night, to watch over her, wherever she may be."

Beau reached over her chest to lay her hand on her opposite shoulder, wiggling her fingers, letting out a shallow breath of relief when she felt the warmth of Jester's fingers wrap round her own. Hiding her face in the crook of her arm, in a bid to hid the wetness at the corner of her eyes, she sniffed and levelled her voice,

"That's very kind of you, Jester."

"He'll protect her, you'll see!" 

Beau tried not to sneer. Not at Jester's belief in her God. Damn, they had enough entanglements with Gods in the last year to make an acolyte out of the most staunch of atheists. No, it wasn't the Cleric's faith she sneered at but rather her choice of words. 

_"We will protect you at all costs!"_ was the last thing Beau said to Yasha before she was cruelly snatched from them, no longer on their plain.

What an idiot she had been to think that they could meddle in the affairs of Celestials and Demons, in a war raging since before The Calamity!

How blindly they had walked into the temple, on the word of a taunting piece of shit, offering up their friend like a sacrificial lamb to slaughter.

She bit back a sob, hiding it in a cough. And if Jester noticed she was kind enough not to say.

Instead there came a faux brightness, to hear it was like thread attempting to hold together a dress much loved yet the material too thin from overuse to be restitched, it was far too brittle,

"All done. The Traveller will know you're with me now."

Beau's hands flew to the back of her head,

"Jessie!! What _did_ you do?"

The mischievous teifling, cleaned off the blade, making a huge display of putting away Fjord's things, her voice once again sing song melodious,

"Oh, nothing really. Just made it reaaallly easy for the Traveller to find yooooou!"

Beau snatched at the small mirror, trying to find an angle that worked, yet she couldn't reach far enough back, instead she began to search with her fíngertips.

"Jester," She tried to contain her anger in the wake of a face feigning innocence, "Did you cut a dick into my hair?"

The cleric returned the question with a flash of a cheeky smirk that made the freckles across her nose dance.

"Would I do a thing like that?"

Beau squinted up at her owlishly, still searching along the miniscule coating of fine hairs.

Yes, there was most definitely a pattern there!

"You've got a three second head start!" she growled.

Jester grinned before, in one swift movement, she got to her feet and darted away.

Lifting herself up on her palms, Beau swung her legs round underneath her, easily flipping herself onto her feet in one fluid movement and took off at speed after the teifling who dodged behind Fjord and Caduceus using them as a shield, shrieks of laughter as Beau made half assed attempts at grabbing her.

The laughter startled Nott awake, and Frumpkin streaked up Caleb's arm to the safety of his shoulders.

The two women chased each other round the camp fire until a lucky flying tackle landed them both in the dirt, in a fit of giggles.

If they had cared to look they might have noticed movement in the darkness at the edges of darkvision.

Mismatched coloured eyes watching the group of friends casting shadows in the warm glow of the campfire.

A sight that evoked something in the depths, just out of reach.

Something worth holding on to.

Something worth fighting for.

If only she could remember.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote chapter 1 before I saw the end of 68 or seen 69.
> 
> So I was taking a wild guess as I knew 'something' had happened to Yasha.

.  
I WAS NOT FOREWARNED, THEREFORE, I WAS NOT PREPARED!

A Saga.

The End!


	3. Chapter 3

Images intermingled in flashes, all at once hazy and yet at the same time clear. A dead Caduceus, a giant cat's paw, a laughing maw full of razor sharp teeth. The sound mocking and invasive. 

Beau shook her head in a bid to clear it as she swung in desperation with her fists wrapped in crackling bright blue electricity. She watched with dismay as the apparition gave way to shadow, dissipating into ether. 

She spun in the darkness, only for it to give way to tall walls of the chamber, the cracked sarcophagus in its centre. Grey serrated edges reaching up like hands grasping from another dimension. Far off the sound of heavy leathery wings beating the air sending up a gust of fetid air that smelt of rot. 

Whispers of voices, disembodied echoing back two fold in this cavernous space, overlaying far off sorrowful hitching sobs. 

Fjord, full of anger, 

"Maybe this was her all along?"

Caduceus, eyes unseeing, 

"We got played."

Jester crouched in the corner, a tear stricken face.

Yellow eyes dancing, hovering in the gloom, crinkled at the corners in malicious bemusement. 

The monk swung wildly, yelling in frustration as, once again, her holy weapons connected with nothing.

The wicked glint of steel coming round in an overhead arc, slashing through Nott's tiny frame.

A wilted flower tumbling from a loose miniscule green hand, drifting in concave arcs to the ground only to be cruelly crushed under foot in the dark, blood splattered earth.

The roof of the cavern was suddenly a clear night sky as far as the eye could see, full of twinkling gems of the distant stars. 

A soft warm voice, stilted as if each word had been carefully considered, weighed and measured before being uttered into existence, as precious as a new life entering the world, 

_"I see you, Beau. I see you alot."_

Mournful sobs became too loud to ignore, permeating the open plains as crimson began bleeding into the once bright moon overhead. 

_"Yasha!"_

Like the moon, the barbarian's pale face became dark, the gentle smile so fleeting became twisted, pulling up at the corners, a bright red forked tongue flickered out, the sound of stone scraping over an uneven surface erupting from her gaping mouth, 

"Avenge me!"

Long curling horns began to protrude from Yasha's head. Pushing their way through the woman's dark hair. There came a tiny beat, before suddenly Yasha was on her, needlepoint, blackened teeth biting into Beau's soft flesh, sinking to the bone, tearing it out in chunks.

A far off random thought that had no place being here drifted from afar,

_She wouldn't have minded being bitten once over, but this wasn't how she had imagined it happening._

Beau let out a blood curdling scream.

x-x-x

Beau startled awake, feet and hands flying out in muscle memory defense, legs tangling up in her sleeping pack. Blinking, she swiftly took in her surroundings, kicking off the annoying material. In the weak light from the dying embers of the fire at entrance to the dome she could make out the sleeping forms of her party mates, each huddled in on themselves. Over to her left, near the entrance, she heard thin moans coming from the curled in form of Jester.

Quietly shifting closer so as not to disturb the others, she went to lay a light hand on the tiefling woman's blue hair, gently stroking it in a bid to soothe her. 

Beau's heart clenched as she observed how Jester's brow was contorted, wetness glistening at the corner of her eyes. The monk continued to stroke and softly croon, until Jester's moans of suffering gave way to whimpers and finally murmurs of their fallen comrade's name. 

Her brow relaxed slightly as Beau carefully lay her own sleeping bag over the Cleric's sleeping form, blue fingers curling round the edges of the material as she rolled over, hopefully leaving behind the nightmares and onto a softer slumber filled with fluffy unicorns of pinks and purples.

One could only hope.

From behind her, there came a loud sniffle closely followed by a distinctive sloshing sound.

_For Wild Mother's sake!_

Fighting the urge to bite through her lip as something in her stomach ignited at the noise, she reached for her cloak, wrapping it around her shoulders before carefully picking her way to the dome's entrance. At first she almost didn't notice the crouched form of the goblin rogue to the right of the entrance, just out of reach of the weak glow from the unattended campfire, until her eyes adjusted to the dark. 

_It's always darkest before dawn._

The sky overhead was a heavy blanket of clouds, lending the night a thickness one could reach out and feel. 

She wondered if she tried would she be able to touch it?

She couldn't even make out the chilling spires of stone that dotted the Xorhausian landscape.

Reaching over, her fingers wrapped around the tell tale roughness of bark and she tossed the pathetic bundle of kindling they had struggled to forage in this desolate place, onto the weak and guttering flame. Embers flared up at the disturbance, casting a muted orange glow that winked off metal and was reflected in two saucer wide yellow eyes.

There came a quiet whoosh as the tinder caught alight, tendrils of fire licking hungrily at it's edges.

In a piss poor attempt at hiding the hard edge to her voice, Beau tried to focus her anger into the stick she was holding, roughly poking at the campfire, 

"Does it help?"

The goblin woman shuffled a little closer, and Beau was almost certain she caught a flicker of remorse upon elongated features but it was hard to be sure with the shadows cast. Instead, Nott muttered on the cusp of hearing, 

"It's a damn sight better than feeling whatever this is."

And with that, the monk couldn't argue. 

_Who was she to judge?_

In her past she had found plenty of solace at the bottom of a bottle in her Father's precious wine cellar. What good would it do to chew out her friend who was just trying to find a way through the bullshit of their predicament?

Instead, she reached out. 

Nott's reedy voice asked in disbelief, 

"You want some?"

"Sure, why Nott?"

The tiny goblin didn't laugh at the the pun and Beau's weakass attempt at levity, instead she scurried around the edge of the campfire, offering up her never ending flask as she took a seat close beside Beau. Taking a sip, the ex smuggler pulled a face at the foul tasting liquid, instantly offering it back and wiping at her lips with the back of her hand, 

"Wild Mother, Nott, how can you drink the stuff? It's disgusting."

Frail shoulders shrugged, and slender green hands wrapped around the flask as if it was a lifeline tossed out to a floundering sailor at the mercy of the high seas,

"Beggars can't be choosers."

The two women lapsed into a morose, heavy silence, staring into the flames, each wrapped in their own worlds. It was broken by a quiet sniffle and out of the corner of her eye, Beau watched as Nott wiped her nose on her sleeve, she briefly wondered how much of it was the alcohol and how much was it grief coming to the surface, chasing away the uncharacteristically nasty thought as quickly as it had come.

Nott drew her knees up, hiding the lower half of her face, two eyebrows crumpling, moisture simmering on brimming wide eyes. Her voice coming out high and reedy, cracking over the consonants and vowels,

"Beau?" The goblin's long ears, poking out of strands of lank black hair, drooped, "- Do you think Fjord is right?" A long green finger began to worry at the leather of her boot, " - That Yasha was always like that?"

A pregnant pause as she contemplated her companion's question.

_Did she?_

Beau's shoulders sagged as she let out a small, sad sigh, 

"I don't know, Nott." Beau visciously poked at the fire. "- Turns out, we don't know much of anything."

At that, Nott pulled up the hood of her cloak, miserably as if she might find some comfort in the cocoon of it's depths, one fingernail continuing to pick at the stitching of her boot, 

"Do you think she'll come back to us?" 

It was subdued, lacking her usual fervre, almost as if it would be afraid of the reply. And the Cobalt Soul Expositor answered with truth, 

"I don't think we've seen the last of her."

And therein lay the problem, exactly which Yasha would come upon them she didn't dare think about. 

_What would they have to do if it was the wrong one, if she was still under the sway of Obann and in the company of the all devouring eldritch horror that was the Laughing Hand? What then?_

Beau swallowed back bile she couldn't wholly attribute to Nott's disgusting liquor. Beside her, Nott gripped the side of the hood, pulling it down to frame her face as she looked up at monk,

"You really think so?"

Two saucer wide eyes filled with hope, stared unblinking. The whole thing struck Beau as oddly adorable, and she couldn't find it in herself to dash the miniscule kernel of optimism within that concave chest that had already been through so much, instead she silently nodded.

Seemingly satisfied, the little woman let out a hum, returning to stare into the campfire and Beau caught the ever so slight upturning of lips at the corners. The crackling of the campfire the only sound to intermittently break the silence. Nott's head began to droop forward in a little nod, fighting sleep. Somewhere, out on the plains an animal called out, more than likely the Moorbounders out on a hunt, startling her awake, a whmzpzf sound escaping her. 

"Nott," Beau softly asked, "-Have you slept at all?" The goblin, bleary eyed cast a look in her direction. The monk caught the dark circles under her eyes. Lifting up the side of her own cloak, she motioned, "- Come here and get some rest. I'll take the last watch."

Nott scooted closer, pausing as if to make sure it was ok, a behaviour learned from years of being the brunt of revulsion, only to wriggle under the offered cloak. Scooping an arm under the surprisingly light form, Beau shifted her friend closer until she was up against her and encouraged the goblin to rest her head on her lap.

Unable to help herself, Nott patted the monk's taunt thigh as if fluffing a pillow before wriggling down to get comfortable. Beau drew the cloak tighter around her companion. There came a sleepily mumbled, 

"This is nice. Yasha used to let me do this."

Beau hid her own sniff as she listened to Nott's breathing become shallow before giving way to quiet snores. Lowering her night vision goggles from a top her head, she scanned the horizon, this time able to make out the accursed spires and three comforting hulking masses of their Moorbounders who seemed at ease. 

Thank the Wild Mother for small mercies as she doubted their group, whose sanity was barely holding by a thread, could take another attack.

To the North the distinctive peaks of a mountain range. Maybe there was hope to be found there, in the Ashkeepers Kiln. Or maybe the Bright Queen would send Drow soldiers after them at their failure to stop Obann unleashing hell upon their kingdom. 

How foolish she had been to think that a vagabond group of mercenaries, each one held together by the weakest of gum, could affect the outcome of the continent?

That it would be so simple. 

_Hubris and Stupidity,_ Dairon would call it. 

And she spared a thought for the Cobalt Soul Elf, where ever she maybe.

_We've royally fucked this one up!_

All those plans, carefully weaved by spiders that lay hidden in the corners of the world, dashed to smithereens all because the Mighty Nein had rushed headlong to _save the world_, she thought bitterly, thinking themselves _Heroes of the Realm_, only to be harshly slapped back to reality that they were nothing but ants in the grand scheme of things.

How much suffering did they need to cause before they learned not to go laying their hands on things they shouldn't?

Was it really to do good, or a way of self inflating their ego?

It was a heady spiral into an abyss she struggled to pull herself back from.

_No!_

They _had_ done good.

They could still change the tide, if Caduceus was to be believed, and Beau knew that this hodge podge, damaged but not broken, found family, would give it their all to correct this mistake.

No matter how slim the odds.

Even if it meant dying in the process.

And if it came to it, she resolved, that _she_ would be the one to do what needed to be done. 

Ending Yasha by her own hand, no matter the toll. 

And deep down, she prayed that her courage wouldn't falter and even more, that she wouldn't ever be forced to try.


	4. Chapter 4

.  
.

_"Do you know the sound of thunder?"_

Once over such a question would not have held any sway, now it was inescapable and all consuming. 

A rumble that could shake the very Earth. The Voice of a God whose motives remained unfathomable.

Now she would give anything to hear it. To see bright tendrils of electricity split the sky in half, it's light blinding. To be pummeled by the rain and beaten by the wind in a punishment that she deserved.

Instead, she remained in this cocoon, the lack of accountability seductively inviting.

Here is was warm, it was safe. Zuala remained here in wisps. Things were fuzzy and muted. From behind the veil, she registered ground covered, one foot methodically in front of the other. Her monstrous companion, heavy footfalls shaking the very ground reminding her of the aforementioned thunder. 

She had struggled, tried to shake off the way in which Obann reached into her very core dragging her along like a marionette. 

He sat like a plump spider, sliver tendrils spun throughout her brain, burrowing deep into places she couldn't refuse. 

Tugging at wisps of memories, hidden in dark places, even from herself.

Jester's tear stricken face. Driving her sword in to Fjord and the look of betrayal shrouded in surprise giving way to anger. 

She had been helpless to stop herself, every sinew and muscle straining against the forceful words, even as she felt the warm sticky heat of her friend spill over her large, pale hands.

The look on Beau's face as she struggled to drag Fjord to safety. How Nott had tried to break through with a flower before fleeing.

The more she struggled, the more Obann squeezed. Her own body betraying her, her limbs moving of their own accord.

She had tried to mouth she was sorry only for the corners of her lips to curl up in a wide grin as the stone doors had ground closed. 

It was only then, too exhausted to fight back that she had given in, retreating back into herself, as she watched her arms raise time and time again against the solid barrier meant to keep them trapped, deep within the bowels of this much needed prison, and attempt to stall the destruction the Crawling King sought to wreak upon the unsuspecting world.

Honeyed words drifted into her thoughts, 

"How does it feel to be back amongst your own kind? To have purpose? To belong?"

_But I don't!_

Thud.

Thud.

Footfalls sending up dust that she hoped her companions could not see on the horizon, wishing them far from here.

"Oh, you came to us willingly. Begging us for help and we ever so kindly obliged, Orphan Maker......Which do you think is the real you? The great warrior, barbarian who takes such satisfaction in taking down your enemies or the pathetic creature who punishes herself for her very nature?"

Gritting her teeth until her jaw ached, she refused to reply. 

"They are not your friends, your companions. They will not accept you for who you really are? We on the other hand," There came a weighty pause,"- We know who you truly are."

Yasha flinched at the truth in those words. 

She had allowed her wife to die alone, preferring to save her own hide. 

Always taking the easier path. 

She was weak.

She felt a prickle on the back of her neck, as if eyes were watching, slowly shunting out the words of Obann. 

This felt warm, felt full of love, a gentle caress, a whisper of encouragement. 

A warm, mischievous male voice in her ear, 

"You are not one of mine, but my dearest has asked I watch over you. Do not give up hope.... Do you know the sound of thunder?" 

As if heralded, there came a distant rumble on the far horizon.

Yasha felt hot wetness trickling down her cheeks, and yet there were no clouds over head. 

Thud!

Thud!

"Rest now, you will need your strength."

And at that warm reassurance, she let out an exhausted sigh, slipping back underneath the heavy veil, retreating to better memories.


End file.
